


Stability

by tastewithouttalent



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Birthday Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-20 07:31:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4778828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'You’re teasing me,' Reisi insists, shutting his eyes and pressing his forehead to the bed like it will ground him, like it will give him the satisfaction Mikoto is denying him." Reisi likes it slow until he runs out of patience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stability

“Fuck,” Reisi gasps against the sheets, the word working itself to fire in his lungs. “ _Faster_ , Mikoto.”

“Hey,” Mikoto rumbles, not-quite laughter but threatening the edge of it. “Thought you wanted me to be patient.”

“You’re teasing me,” Reisi insists, shutting his eyes and pressing his forehead to the bed like it will ground him, like it will give him the satisfaction Mikoto is withholding. “Don’t claim those are the same thing.”

“Are they not?” Mikoto’s hands brace at Reisi’s hips, a warning that he won’t like what’s to come; in the next moment there’s a slide of friction, a slick, wet sound as Mikoto draws back out of him completely to leave Reisi gasping against the sheets at the loss. “Don’t you like this?”

“Damn you,” Reisi offers, squeezing his eyes shut like that pressure will somehow sate the ache of desire shivering all up his spine. Mikoto’s hand eases, slides up against Reisi’s spine and down the curve of his back; when he presses a callused thumb against the other’s entrance Reisi’s throat tightens on a whimper, his shoulders tensing as he tries to rock himself back against the pressure. “Aren’t you supposed to do what I want today?”

“This is what you want,” Mikoto says, slow with certainty. His touch slides away, down to brace at the back of Reisi’s thigh instead, and Reisi wishes he didn’t choke out a moan when Mikoto leans in over him again but he does, the heat of the other’s body is radiant as a fire against his skin as the slick head of his cock brushes against the inside of Reisi’s thigh. “You like it like this.”

“No,” Reisi says, the lie sour on his tongue and desperate in his chest. “This isn’t--”

“You like it slow,” Mikoto reminds him. He angles his hips back, lines himself up; when he pushes forward it’s agonizingly drawn-out, slow enough that Reisi feels each separate shudder of friction wash through him and fade into the burn of the stretch before the next one hits. Mikoto’s breathing is coming hard over him, heat ruffling through the strands of Reisi’s hair, but his hold is steady, unbreakable even when Reisi fists at the sheets and tries to rock himself back for more.

“Not this slow,” Reisi insists, calculating the distance from Mikoto’s hold at his hip to his cock, noticing how completely still Mikoto’s hand is, how impossibly vast the few inches of distance are. “Please, Mikoto, faster.”

“Is that begging?” Mikoto asks, sounding genuinely curious. His fingers shift, a moment of suggestion before they still again, and Reisi almost sobs desire. “I thought the Blue King would have more stamina than this.”

“ _Mikoto_ ,” Reisi gasps, turns his head to look sideways at the man leaning in over him. His vision is hazy without his glasses, his perspective tangled with the dark of the hair caught over his face, but Mikoto’s close enough that he can see the bronze color to his eyes, the flush of heat under his skin like he’s glowing. “ _Please_.”

Mikoto tips his hips, rocks in closer; Reisi can feel the movement shudder all down his spine, the friction of the other’s action radiating out into flame in his body. “What do you want me to do?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Reisi chokes, a curse; then, when Mikoto starts to slide back, threatens to pull away again: “Fuck me,” an order, hard and fast and shaking with the want. “I want you to  _fuck_  me, Mikoto.”

“Mm.” Reisi can feel the rumble of Mikoto’s purr along his spine, the vibration short-circuiting any coherency left in his head, and then the other man moves, thrusts forward again over the inch of movement he’s gained. “Like that?”

“Harder,” Reisi gasps. “ _Faster_.”

Mikoto draws back, a slide so long Reisi thinks for a moment he’s going to pull out again. Then he thrusts forward, jolts friction into the other all at once, and Reisi groans without even caring that it’s not muffled into the sheets. His vision swerves white for a moment, his shoulders flexing in a surge of involuntary tension, and Mikoto’s gasping air over him, rumbling something part a purr and part a moan, the distinction too fine for Reisi to tell.

“Fuck,” Mikoto says succinctly, and then he’s moving again, and Reisi can’t find any words to answer or chide or agree. Mikoto’s moving too fast, falling into a rhythm that blinds Reisi with heat on every second stroke, the slick thrust of his cock forcing Reisi’s breathing into a whimpering moan with each exhale. The air smells like heat, humidity hanging in the air like electricity before a storm, and Reisi is grateful to Mikoto’s hold, now, the fingers caught at his hip to hold him still against the forward weight of the thrusts the other is taking into him. His lips taste of salt, sweat catching his hair to his forehead and clinging to his mouth, and he doesn’t have the time to push it aside, can’t care enough to bother between filling his lungs with huge gasping inhales that feel like steam and turn to fire in his chest. Mikoto’s moving faster, or maybe Reisi is finally getting traction on the bed; either way his breathing is coming quick, his body flexing against the waves of heat flooding through him, and then Mikoto’s fingers drag across his stomach and everything goes shudderingly taut with anticipation.

“Mikoto,” Reisi chokes, and “Reisi,” Mikoto purrs, and then his hand closes on the other’s length and Reisi’s world goes white and hazy-soft. He’s shaking, he’s gasping, he doesn’t know what he saying, if he’s ordering or pleading or maybe just breathing Mikoto’s name into haze in the air, but when he shudders it’s into pleasure, relief surging hot and trembling through his very bones, and Mikoto’s hold is there to anchor him to reality so Reisi can let his composure flicker and fade out for a long moment of breathless sensation. It’s a gift all on its own, Mikoto playing the part of stability so well that even when his fingers tighten and he groans low and satisfied Reisi doesn’t have to come back, can float hazy and warm and languid on the aftershocks of his orgasm while Mikoto rocks himself through the pulses of his own.

“Reisi?” Mikoto asks after, some unspecified amount of time after Reisi has collected the scattered parts of himself in his thoughts and is thinking about pulling them back together. He’s uncomfortable, sticky with the humidity and with his fingers cramping in their hold on the sheets, but he doesn’t move at the sound of his name, just turns his head and tries to draw his gaze into some kind of attention on Mikoto leaning in over him. Fingers brush his cheek, draw the sweat-slick strands of his hair back and behind his ear, and Mikoto smiles almost-an-apology in Reisi’s periphery. “Good?”

Reisi shuts his eyes to the distraction of vision, lets his mouth go soft on the possibility of a smile. He might actually be smiling -- he’s not certain, really -- but he speaks anyway, just to make it clear. “Very.”

“Good.” Mikoto leans in closer; Reisi can feel an exhale against the curve of his ear before lips catch the corner of his mouth and press a kiss against the maybe-smile there. “Happy birthday, Reisi.”

When Reisi smiles in reply, he’s certain of the expression.


End file.
